


I Won't Give Up On You, Either

by melfics (orphan_account)



Series: Mickey's Feelings [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/melfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey has a very real panic attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Give Up On You, Either

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song Fever by The Tragic Thrills.  
> 

"Ian," his body shakes. It trembles because he only hit a little bit; not enough to bleed. It's not enough. "I don't know. I don’t fucking know.”

"Mick," Ian says calmly. "Give me ten minutes. I'll be over there soon. Lay down and hug my pillow. Don't-"

Mickey hangs up on him. He shakes his head and he feels his hands at his sides, fingers curling into fists at his hips, struggling to keep from flailing at the walls. His eyes open and close with his fists, and his legs shake as he lowers his thighs to the edge of the mattress. He doesn't even know what made him do it this time.

I hate myself so goddamned much, he remembers thinking.

He needed to make it hurt. Needs to make it hurt. It courses, sensationally, through his body and it's all inside. It's all kept up inside of him, and he needs to let it out. He needs to feel better, no, stronger, about himself. So he hits things. Not people, never people. He's not quite his father. But he hits things.

He's picking nervously at his thumb with his teeth when Ian finds him. He takes his hand from his mouth and strokes his fingers over the few scratches and teeth marks.

"What do you need?" He asks in a scratchy voice. "What do you need, baby?"

Mickey responds with weary eyes, now biting at his lower lip.

Ian nods and motions for Mickey to move over on the bed, watches how stiff his body is as it shifts. He threads the fingers of his right hand through Mickey’s hair as he supports his own body against the mattress with his left arm. He kisses lightly at Mickey’s forehead, and again in his hair, and he lowers himself to lay one arm underneath him and spoon his hip with his crotch. He rests his lips against the skin of Mickey’s forearm and mutters indistinct words.

And for a moment, though his heart is still beating in his throat and his head still feels a thousand miles away, he feels okay. Comfortable. Even as his vision blurs and he starts to feel like he can’t breathe, he can still see Ian and he can feel Ian breathing next to him. But as the seconds pass, his panic worsens.

He could literally swallow his heart and it wouldn’t digest, it’s so far up his throat. It just sits there, beating in his neck faster than he can think. He thinks he can taste it.

He feels distant, and he feels like he can't help it. He was worried for a moment that he'd lose it again, before he gave in to calling Ian. But now that he's here, though it's diminished somewhat, the distance hasn't closed itself. The music next door is too loud, the words too harsh, and Ian too… calm. _Too_ comforting. He eyes Mickey worriedly and Mickey feels invaded. Now guilty thoughts subdue his conscience, and his heart rate increases dramatically. You're _supposed to be here for_ him. Thump. Thump. _He's coddling you, and you're letting him, you fucking baby_ . Thump thump. _You're so fucking weak, you can't even take care of yourself, let alone your fucking boyfriend_. Thump thump thump thump thump thump-

Suddenly a gunshot sounds several blocks away, which honestly isn’t that uncommon in the South Side, but he’s sitting up and knocking Ian’s worried hands away. He can feel Ian sit up, feel the shift in the bed, but his eyes find the door.

This time it’s flight.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay-”

But Mickey’s fighting silent sobs, his mouth torn wide open, as he stumbles for the door. Are these his legs? Why aren’t they working properly?

There’s the bathroom. There’s Ian right behind him.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he struggles to gasp as he slams the bathroom door in his boyfriend’s face. Jesus fucking Christ, who the fuck is he?

Why can’t he feel his heartbeat anymore? He doesn’t know. Why are his knees buckling? Why are his eyes wet? Why is he sliding down the wall, landing with a thud against it and the floor? Why is he screaming? Oh. He isn’t screaming. Not out loud, anyway.

He can’t breathe, all he can do is palm at his forehead desperately as he doles out a lifetime’s worth of painful, physically painful sobs that torture his chest.

He’s gasping incessantly now; forceful intakes of breath. He can hear them louder than Ian’s worried pleas. _Settle down_ , he tells himself. _Fucking breathe_.

He does, some, and then there’s another knock at the door and Mickey remembers Ian, who must be worried out of his mind, which only makes him feel worse and works him up more. Fuck. He can’t breathe again, and within moments he’s back to swallowing tears to will his heart back down to his chest. Several more minutes of this come and go, and that’s it, really.

He breathes again, but he can’t shake the feeling of what just happened.

Later, he manages to convince Ian to stay on the couch, since he won’t leave him in the house alone, and he falls asleep in his bed to the sound of his own heartbeat, which is, finally, steady.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you use enough commas in that last sentence, buddy?


End file.
